Эрин Хантер - The Apprentice's Quest

Alderpaw shook his head. “Er… no, thanks.” He couldn’t bear having his former mentor watch him fail again. “I’ll just practice on my own.”

“Okay. I’ll see you back in camp.”

Molewhisker pushed his way through a clump of bracken and vanished.

Once his sound and scent had died away, Alderpaw slid deeper into the forest, his ears pricked and his jaws parted to pick up the first traces of prey. Soon he heard a chirping sound from above, along with the rustling of leaves and the flutter of wings. Looking up, he spotted a thrush perched on the branch of a nearby tree.

Alderpaw’s belly rumbled, and he realized how hungry he was. He had barely eaten anything since he and his friends had arrived in the gorge two days before. He wondered if he would be in trouble if he caught the bird for himself instead of taking it back to camp, then reminded himself that he wasn’t in ThunderClan now. I’m not going to eat with SkyClan, the way they shove the kits and elders around.

He stalked the thrush as it fluttered deeper into the forest; then, keeping two trees back, he scrambled up the trunk of a beech tree and out onto a branch. He tried to remember everything he had been taught before he’d been told he was a terrible hunter and would be much better off as a medicine cat.

Best not to think about that, he decided.

It’s just a small bird. I can do this.

Creeping forward stealthily, Alderpaw managed to cross into the tree where the thrush was perching. It seemed to be unaware of him.

He was bunching his muscles to pounce when another cat exploded upward from the forest floor in a massive leap. Its forepaws were outstretched to grab the bird, but it missed by a mouse-length. With a yowl of rage the cat fell backward, tumbling back to the ground. The thrush, startled, flew away.

“Fox dung!” Alderpaw hissed.

The strange cat—a ragged, skinny gray tom—scrambled to his paws and glared up at Alderpaw. “It’s your fault I missed it!” he snarled. “Didn’t you see I was already stalking it? You made me rush.”

But Alderpaw had forgotten all about the thrush. Now that he got a clear sight of the newcomer, he was too stunned to do anything but stare. This is one of the cats from my vision!

He remembered seeing the gray tom in the circle of cats who had watched the ceremony when Leafstar had made a new warrior. But then he had been a healthy Clan cat with a glossy pelt. Now he looked just like a mangy rogue, all his ribs showing through matted fur.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“My name’s Mistfeather,” the cat replied roughly. “What’s it to you?”

Cautiously, never taking his gaze from the gray tom, Alderpaw climbed down the tree trunk. Keeping his distance so that Mistfeather wouldn’t think he was looking for a fight, he dipped his head politely.

“Greetings,” he mewed. “I’m sorry about the thrush. My name is Alderpaw, and I come from ThunderClan.”

The gray tom’s eyes widened in a mixture of wonder and disbelief. “ThunderClan!” he exclaimed. “Then you must know Firestar. I wasn’t born when he came to restore my Clan, but his story was told at every full moon upon the Skyrock. We honored him above all cats.”

Alderpaw felt as if every hair on his pelt was rising in excitement. He opened his jaws to tell Mistfeather that Firestar was dead, then decided this wasn’t the moment. Instead he asked, “Were you exiled from your Clan?”

The gray tom stared back at him. “Was I exiled?” he asked, bitterness invading his tone.

“No, I wasn’t. It was the whole Clan!”

“What do you mean?” Alderpaw asked, staring at him incredulously.

Mistfeather beckoned him nearer with a twitch of his tail. Alderpaw sat among the roots of the tree where he had stalked the thrush, and the gray tom crouched close beside him.

“You’ve met those cats in the gorge, right?”

Mistfeather began. “I bet they let you think they were SkyClan, but they’re not. They’re vicious rogues who attacked the real SkyClan and took our territory for themselves.”

Alderpaw’s first reaction was a profound relief. I knew there was something wrong about those cats. They’re not a Clan at all!

No wonder they don’t know how to behave!

But he was also surprised to hear that such a terrible fate had come to SkyClan. Is this what my visions were trying to tell me? That SkyClan has been exiled and needs my help?

“Where did the rogues come from?” he asked.

“I have no idea,” Mistfeather replied. “And I have no idea what rules they follow—if they follow any at all. They’re evil!”

In the wake of his relief, doubts began to creep into Alderpaw’s mind. “Surely a whole

Clan should have been able to fight them off?”

Mistfeather couldn’t meet his gaze; his whiskers drooped in shame. “Times had been hard for us, and to tell you the truth, we had as many daylight-warriors as we did cats who lived all the time in the gorge.”

“Daylight-warriors?”

Alderpaw asked, mystified.

“Cats who came to hunt and train with us warriors during the day,” Mistfeather explained.

“Then at night they would go back to their Twolegs.”

“You mean they were kittypets ?” Alderpaw was so outraged that he could hardly get the words out. “You let kittypets into your Clan?”

“It worked for us,” Mistfeather mewed defensively. “And the daylight-warriors were brave and worthy Clanmates, but the rogues attacked at night when they were with their housefolk, so we were terribly outnumbered.”

“And the rogues won.”

Mistfeather nodded. “We were trying to protect one another, not kill our enemies, and it’s easy to defeat cats who do that.”

“So where did the rest of your Clan go?”

Alderpaw asked, glancing around as if he expected more cats to emerge from the undergrowth.

“I don’t know,” Mistfeather told him. “We all scattered. I’m the only one left here, and I have no idea how many of the others survived, or where they might be.”

“Why did you stay?”

Deep grief flooded into Mistfeather’s amber eyes. “My mate was killed in the battle. I decided that I’d rather live as a loner in the place where she died than leave to look for new territory.”

Alderpaw’s heart clenched with pity and fury. Everything makes sense now! Guilt tore at him like a fox’s fangs as he realized that his vision had been real. SkyClan had needed help, but he and his friends had come too late.

“That’s why the cats in the gorge don’t act like a Clan,” he murmured half to himself. “It’s because they’re not a Clan. They’re just rogues who pounced on a group of cats when they were vulnerable. They’re no better than thieves.”

“What do you know about it?”

The harsh voice came from behind

Alderpaw; he sprang up and whirled around to see Darktail standing a fox-length away, a sneer on his face. His unsettling blue gaze showed almost no emotion as he regarded Alderpaw and Mistfeather.

“It seems you’ve met one of the dregs of the gorge,” he meowed to Alderpaw. “Somehow he’s still alive! And it sounds like you’re plotting against my cats.”

Alderpaw backed away until he had the trunk of the tree behind him. His gaze flickered to and fro, hoping that some of his Clanmates might be nearby. But there was no sound or scent of them. In the dark shadows cast by the trees, Darktail seemed to be twice his size. I’ll have to think fast to get out of this.

But weariness and hunger seemed to have made Mistfeather mouse-brained. Lurching to his paws, he arched his back and hissed at Darktail. “You’re a filthy rogue who stole territory!”